"Medicine" 7: Xiaoshuan picked up the black thing and looked at it for a while, as if he was holding his own life, and he felt indescribable in his heart. He carefully broke it open, and a white gas came out from the burnt skin. The white gas dispersed and it turned into two halves of white flour buns. —— In a short time, it was all in his stomach, but he had forgotten what it tasted like; there was only an empty plate in front of him. Next to him, his father stood on one side and his mother stood on the other side. The eyes of the two seemed to want to inject something into his body and take something out; he couldn't help but feel his heart beating, pressed his chest, and coughed again.

"Sleep for a while, and you will be fine."

Xiaoshuan followed his mother's words and fell asleep with a cough. Aunt Hua waited until his breathing calmed down before gently covering him with a patched quilt.

The Qingming Festival this year was particularly cold; the willows had just sprouted new buds as big as half a grain of rice. Before dawn, Aunt Hua had already arranged four dishes and a bowl of rice in front of a new grave on the right and cried. After turning the paper, he sat on the ground in a daze; as if he was waiting for something, but he couldn't say what he was waiting for. The breeze had long since died down; the dry grass stood upright like copper wire. A faint trembling sound became thinner and thinner in the air, until it disappeared, and the surroundings were dead silent. The two stood in the dry grass, looking up at the crow; the crow was also standing among the straight branches, with its head tucked in, like a cast iron.